tempest in a teacup
by bleuboxes
Summary: Because as much as she wants to get to know him, there's a part of her that is equally terrified of him. It's almost as if she gets the feeling that he knows that she's an anomaly, and something about him knowing that makes her feel a little less safe.
1. Chapter 1

The first time she saw him, she was sitting in a tiny scummy bar in the American south west. She didn't know who he was or what he was or why he even decided to sit next to her in the first place, but she didn't really care.

Looking back on it, she probably should have.

They just talked a bit, mostly the other just made inquiries about what they were doing at such a run-down hole in the wall. She could tell that he had seen many a battle in his life. His eyes held stories that a man as young as he shouldn't even know. She knew that look all too well; she'd been looking at it since she was eleven and she sees it every time she looks at herself in a mirror.

He couldn't have been much older than her, maybe five years at least, but they shared an uncultured wit and a smile that could end wars; so when she finished her last drink and wished him a good night, she couldn't help but hope that she would see him again.

And as she disapparated away with a crack to another place (she made sure no one followed her out of the building and into the meadow across the cracked country road) she wished she had asked him for his name.

-:-

* * *

-:-

She saved his life from a rouge Dementor the next time she saw him.

The Ministry had assigned her to track it (although she isn't quite sure why. Harry must have put in a good word or something.) and dispose of it, and it seemed that this young lonely man was searching for it as well.

She isn't sure why a practically normal person would ever go looking for one of these soul sucking fiends from hell, but who was she to judge; she had only ever had one honest to god tiny conversation with him, it's not like she knew his whole life story or anything (And he sure as hell didn't know hers).

She's trying her hardest not to laugh as he shoots it with a simple little hand gun, as if that's going to stop a Dementor. He fires again, and again and again, the sound of its firing ricochets of the trees in the forest, until she watches him finally realize that a silly little pistol isn't going to work against this thing.

And that is when he pulls out a machete and charges it.

She's seriously beginning to think that this man has a death wish.

He gets within three feet of it, then, it starts to suck the soul out of him, and she knows that if she doesn't do something soon he's probably not going to make it out of the woods alive.

She emerges from the cover of the evergreens and has her wand at the ready. She focuses on something happy; before the War, before she forced her parents to forget, before She and Ron ended their relationship. And it's such a simple memory, and that makes it what it truly is. Then she shouts the patronus charm as loud as she can, and prays to whatever is out there that it works, because she doesn't want this man to die; he can't die. Not here and not now.

Damn it, she doesn't even know his name.

And it works, just like it always does. She rushes over to his body, which is lying limp on the forest floor.

 _At least he's breathing_. She thinks to herself. She props him up against the nearest dead tree, then rummages through her bottomless little bag that she carries for some chocolate before getting out of the area.

Because as much as she wants to get to know him, there's a part of her that is equally terrified of him. It's almost as if she gets the feeling that he knows that she's an anomaly, and something about him knowing that makes her feel a little less safe.

And with a crack, she is back in her shitty ass motel room packing up the mess that she's made of the place trying to locate the stupid Dementor that she most definitely won't be seeing again.

(He's woken up and doesn't remember a thing except a flying hooded figure, a fairly nice looking chick with a stick, and a blue otter. And he has no idea where the half eaten chocolate bar has come from and in all honesty he doesn't really care because it tastes really fucking good.)

-:-

* * *

-:-

The third time she meets him, she literally runs into him on the street in some small town in northern Idaho. She's running away from a Doxy, a Biting Fairy, which she has very little intention of being bitten by. (She never meant to disturb its nest, it just so happened that she had landed right on top of it.)

The muggles didn't seem to be noticing it and it didn't seem to care very much about anything except her; she supposes her situation could be worse, although it's not like she can just whip out her wand because she's surrounded by people, even better _Americans_ , and god knows how the Ministry would react to that

It wasn't like they were on too great of terms; she had just quit her job and started writing book about her incredibly grown up life as a child and being Harry Potter's best friend.

She runs into this muscular mass of an arm and practically knocks him over as well as herself. (He stays upright; it's as if he's used to this sort of thing). She however, is not used to barging into muscular Americans in the street and falls flat on her face. She quickly turns her head to make sure the stupid biting fairy is a distance behind her, before quickly getting up and dusting herself off.

"I'm so sorry." She apologizes quickly; she doesn't really have a lot of time.

"Wait a second," he looks at her like he's examining a question on a test, "Do I know you?"

"Yes, probably, I don't know!" she huffs, "Look, sir, I'm running late," she looks back again and notices that the Doxy is almost caught up to her, and she then realizes that it's the man that she met at the bar, the same man she saved from Dementors not two months previous.

"Wait," she says quickly, "I do know you. We had a drinks a while back, at some really crappy bar in Arizona, I think…."

"Oh yeah!" he says, his eyes light up with recognition. "I never did get your name-"

"Hermione." She spits out quickly, looking back once more, "Look …"

"Dean."

"Okay, Dean, I'd really love to chat but I've got to be somewhere two hours ago, so I best be on my way."

"Maybe I'll see you around?' he asks hopefully.

She allows herself to reply with a maybe, although she knows that she being incredibly hopeful, because at this point, it's very unlikely that she'll out run this annoying son of a bitch.

-:-

* * *

-:-

She finds herself meeting him once again. She's at a diner in West Virginia, maybe three months after the Doxy incident, waiting for the blasted chosen one to get his butt across the pond to meet up with her.

She's sitting by herself in a booth sipping her now room temperature coffee waiting for Harry potter to walk into this place, when by chance, she spots Dean sitting at the counter sweet talking the pretty blonde waitress (by the looks of it, whatever he's pulling on her must be working) next to a man that may as well be as tall as Grawp.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a book, it being the Tales of Beetle the Bard, one her favorites, and probably always will be no matter how much Harry makes fun of her for liking a children's book so much. She allows herself to be completely immersed with the tale of Babbity Rabbity (She's read that so many times before and it never fails to captivate her) that she doesn't see Dean sneak his way into the seat across from her. She doesn't hear him when he says her name.

It's not until he reaches over and pokes her arm that she realizes that he's even there at all, and it sort of scares her how easily he was able to sneak up on her.

"You following us or something?" he asks teasingly, though she can sense that there's something more to those really simple joking words as he looks at her with a face that looks rather serious. She's all too familiar with this situation, so she doesn't lie, there's no need to.

"Who's you're friend?" she asks him, with interest.

"Sasquatch over there?" he asks, and motions towards the humongous man who seems to be watching them with amusement. She nods, "That's my brother, Sam."

"Is he older?" he frowns at her question and mumbles something.

"No," he says, "I'm the oldest. What brings you 'round this part of the country?"

"Actually I'm supposed to be meeting a friend right now. He's come in from London to visit and he seems to be running late so I may just have to skin his carcass when he gets here." She replied.

He laughed, which caused the corners of her mouth to slightly twinge upwards, as if she was about to smile.

And just after that, the door opens with a loud swoosh and the bell on top of the door makes its noise and she looks up to see none other than Harry enter the American diner looking lost and dazed. She smiles and waves, and he starts over.

Dean seems to notice that she's motioning for someone to come over, and he takes it as his cue to leave.

"Well, see ya around, sweetheart."

"Bye, Dean." She says. He walks away and she greets Harry, who she is no longer angry with. (Though she is pestered by the amount of questions he's asking about the American men that seem to keep looking at her. Apparently he doesn't believe that theiy are friends.)

-:-

* * *

-:-

And that may just be the last time she has a civil conversation with Dean, because the next time she meets him, he's trying to kill a troll with his brother using only shotguns.

She can testify to say that the sight was not pretty. There was troll blood pretty much everywhere and it's at that moment when Sam (she thinks that's his name) decides he's going to charge the thing. And to say the least, the troll smacks him into next week with his club. She can tell that Sam is injured and that it's probably a good time to step in. She runs over to the fallen man and opens her bag. He's breathing, and he's bleeding, but he should be okay while she deals with the troll.

She runs up next to Dean with a smile on her face and wand in her hand. (She really hopes that he won't shoot her with that shotgun.)

"Long time no see." He says.

"Promise you won't shoot me?" she asks. He gives her one of those infamous smirks and with a flick of her wrist and a shout of _Evanesco,_ the troll is gone.

Before he even has a chance to shoot her brains out, she's run back to his brother, who's still bleeding, but it seems to have slowed. She pulls out her bag and summons the Dittany, which has saved a couple people before and she doesn't think the outcome will be any different this time. She puts three drops of it onto Sam's wound and he shrieks out in pain as the flesh puts itself back together. She's about to fix his broken nose when Dean comes over and pulls her away from him.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he demands with a look that may just be more lethal than the shotgun pressed against her.

"It was just a simple vanishing spell, no harm done. He should be somewhere in the void now…"

"You're a witch." He states as if it's some sort of sin against humanity.

"Well, yes."

"You sold your soul so you can vanish trolls"

"I was not aware that I sold my soul for anything, actually."

"Well mind telling me where your magic mojo comes from if it isn't from a demon?" he asks. He looks completely serious and it causes her to burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Well I suppose the earth, or the goddess Hecate; no one really knows for sure." He looks at her with a disbelieving stare. She sighs, "Look, Dean, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have let the troll do it. I don't summon demons, I don't do dark magic. I'm a good person who just seems to find her way into impossibly bad situations."

She can tell he wants to press the trigger, and she doesn't doubt that he will, but before he can, Sam and his wonderful marvelous timing save her. He stands up and runs towards Dean, making him point the gun down.

"Dean, she healed me. There isn't a wound anymore; I was bleeding a hell of a lot ten minutes ago. I mean, it hurt like a bitch whatever she used, but it worked. And she got rid of that thing that smashed me."

"I swear," She says, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I think she's faking it." Says Dean and she groans in annoyance.

"If you both put your heads together you wouldn't even have a full brain. I've saved each of your lives once already. I think you owe me at least a little bit of trust! I'm _not_ a _bad_ _witch_."

Dean is looking at her with those piercing green eyes that are telling her that he thinks otherwise. She knows what a bad witch is; she has a scar on her arm that reminds her everyday of what not to be. She has memories of bad witches and bad wizards and she knows that she will never be like one of them, or those things that call themselves witches (they really aren't. She's read books about how muggles think the knock off version of magic is the real thing.)

They are whispering amongst themselves and she quite frankly has had enough and she is about to get the hell out of this stupid field when she hears Dean call out.

"Hey, Glinda! Where you going?"

"Hopefully somewhere where I won't be accused of selling my soul. Do you go around accusing ever girl you meet of selling her soul or is it just me. I mean, I've been accused of being a lot of awful things, but I don't know, that just seems a little low."

She turns away from him and she's about to disapparate away from this stupid place, Dean grabbed her shoulder and was brought along on a rather pressing journey to flat in London. She hears him almost fall over and she feels a little woozy herself; it's been a while since she's carried someone else with her.

She's too tired to bring him back to America and Sam at this exact moment so she trudges into her kitchen and puts the kettle on.

She walks back into her living room to find Dean admiring the pictures littering her mantle peice. She walks over to stand next to this man, a stranger who she has unwillingly let into her home, who is looking at her memories.

He's busy admiring the picture of her at the Yule Ball, but she's looking at the pictures of all her friends – some dead, some still living, and some that she hasn't heard from since the War. She's expecting him to make some snarky comment about how she must have put a spell on herself to look that good at fourteen, but he doesn't. And that shocks her.

"Why are they moving?"

"Because regular pictures are boring." He snorts at her answer.

"You're a strange woman, Hermione."

"I guess I always have been. There isn't much I can do about it."

"So all these people in these pictures, they're like you then?"

"Yes, well for the most part yes."

"What do you mean?"

"They're mostly normal, if you can all our already strange childhood normal, but I'm a muggleborn, which means I have a non-magical parentage. It happens, and I guess the wizards with magical lineage get a bit angry about that for some stupid reason, and they just… they're just very rude about it."

"That's awful."

"Well, it gets worse, unfortunately. There was a war a few years back, and the dark wizards – the ones who believed in purity of the blood lines, captured me and two friends and they tortured me for information. The woman, Bellatrix," she choked back tears, "she carved a word in my arm so that I would always remember my place. And I do; I remember that I am a better person than she'll ever be. I try to help people, Dean; that's what we do. That's what we are taught to do. And those 'witches' that you've run into before aren't like us. We're a different breed entirely. We all make choices, and I choose to be good."

Before he can say anything else, she runs in the kitchen to take the kettle off; she isn't in the mood for tea anymore. She knows that he's followed her.

"I'm not asking you to trust me, and I'm not asking to come do whatever you do, I'm just asking you to give me a chance to prove that I'm not bad." He laughs. "I don't even know your full name."

"Dean Winchester." He holds out his hand.

"Hermione Granger." She says as she shakes his hand.

"Pleasure meeting you, but do you think you could take me back to my brother now; he's probably worried that you lit me on fire or something."

"Things may get a little tight." She says with a smirk and a glimmer in her eyes as she grabs his hand and they disappear.

-:-

* * *

-:-

She's been with the Winchesters for five months now, and she's still running from the Ministry and their countless number of job offers. She's still running from Ron's constant plea for her to come back. She's still running from everything that she left behind in England.

But now she's running towards dangerous creatures and dangerous things with a drawn wand and two boys with an arsenal in the trunk.

She's never been happier.

(Plus she thinks Dean Winchester may be slightly attracted to her and that's a hell of a lot of fun to toy around with.)

* * *

 **HEYO GUYS!**

 **I was cruising around the crossover section the other day, and I was really surprised by the amount of dean/Hermione orientated fics. there's like a good ten(ish) of them and idk I was just really disappointed. I feel like they would have some pretty great chemistry together.**

 **So when I brought up the idea to my friend, she was like "hells yeah, babe. DO IT!" so I did.**

 **hopefully its okay because if there is one thing that drives me crazy its a poorly written crossover.**

 **please review and favorite and follow because depending on the response, I might write more. (actually I was going to write more anyway, but a good response might make me write faster so...)**

 **alright, thanks for reading!**

 **bleuboxes**


	2. Chapter 2

They've just returned to their motel room after successfully clearing out a vampire nest. It was a bit too much teen romance novel for her liking, but it kept her mind off things. (Plus she liked to see the sexually frustrated look on Dean's face when she decapitated a vampire with the flick of her wand while getting soaked with its blood in the process.) He was such a stereotypical American she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

She's earned Sam's trust completely over these last few months. (The way to his heart is to save his brother's ass. Who would have known?) Dean, on the other hand, is still a bit weary on the whole part of her being a witch – a good one at that. If she was in his position, she would have felt the same way, but five months was a little long to be apprehensive.

She didn't know how she was supposed to prove herself t him; she's killed demons and everything in-between. She's let them in on her extensive knowledge about magical creatures and she's even healed them on many different occasions. They were asking so much of her; it was taxing on her mentality and she doesn't think she'll be able to continue like this for much longer.

She finds Sam much more intimidating than Dean; maybe it's his size or maybe it's the way he carries himself. (Although, when she thinks about it, it's probably because he reminds her of how she used to be a long time ago; a selfless but yet selfish intellectual.)

But never the less, she likes them both; Although, Sam is usually nice enough and to give her the bed in the motel (he's _ever_ the gentleman) and he even sometimes lets her sit in the front seat of the Impala.

But, in all honesty, she could care less of what Dean thinks of her. She gets it; they have trust issues, she does too; it's what danger and wars do to people, and she supposes that that's alright in a warped sense of humanity.

But, this warped humanity is so much more exhilarating and, dare she say, better looking than her whole life in the wizarding world. Don't get her wrong, there were some attractive wizards on the other side of the pond, but _holy_ _hell_ , the Winchesters (specifically Dean) were a whole new terrain.

Sam was just too sweet for her; she has always had a thing for bad boys. He was all chivalrous and kind and he reminded her of Harry quite a lot lately. (Sam was easily one of her best friends now.) Dean was on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. He's an ass, and that's putting it lightly. Dean also happens to be a complete raving lunatic, and for some odd reason, she finds that awfully attractive.

Although, he can always do without that hideous attitude and his puddle of self-pity, but for being a pessimist, he's usually quite optimistic. (When she thinks about it, he's usually a little more positive after he's drowned himself in alcohol, so that last sentence may not exactly be true to fact.)

So, she and Dean are not at all alike unless you count in the soldier card, because when it comes to that part of the personality package, they seem to have more in common than she (they) would ever like to admit. They were both involved with completely different circumstances and events, but in essence they weren't all that unalike.

He went to hell, which she is sure was as fun as it sounds, and she was tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, which ultimately permanently damaged her nervous system and left her with unbearable nightmares when she sleeps and sometimes paranoia. She's killed people and saved others; she tries to convince herself that the rights have cancel out the wrongs, but she can't. Because much like blasted Dean Winchester, she's a ball of negativity and she would like nothing more than to down a whole bottle of Fire Whiskey in an unhealthy amount of time, but she has to be strong; she learned that in fourth year, no thanks to the _wonderful_ Rita Skeeter, because if there's one person she hates more than herself, it's herself when she can't keep all her emotions and thoughts in check.

Tonight's the night she snaps; she can't keep it in anymore. She's breaking inside; hunting is strenuous to begin with and she's a witch hunting with people that may want to kill her because they're too headstrong to listen to her when she tells them that she's not one of those coven whores. She's about ready to crumble into tiny pieces of dust. (Plus Dean has been extraordinarily pig headed this last week, and that's helping her situation out _loads_.)

She honestly she thought she could get away from everything when she left her life to come to America. Instead, she got herself into another mess. She should have expected it, really; her life hasn't been normal since she got that letter in the mail all those years ago. She was foolish to think she could ever be just a plain old human being again.

The boys were sleeping when she lost it.

She couldn't hold her tears in any longer. She made sure she was particularly quiet when she held her meltdown, but she was shaking and the squeaky mattress wasn't helping anybody sleep. (She was so upset she didn't even feel like putting the silencing charm on the mattress)

Apparently, Dean can only take fifteen minutes of a squeaking mattress before he (quietly) tells her to stop fidgeting. He starts rambling on how he knows the beds are uncomfortable, and all that other fun stuff that she doesn't eve care to listen to because she's too busy losing her mind and overthinking everything she's done for the last year that she's been in America. She whispers a shaky apology, silently praying he won't hear her shaky voice.

She tries to stop herself from trembling, but that's only causing her to want to shake more. And that's when she lets out a huge hiccup and she can't keep the noise to a minimum anymore. She can hear him thinking up a snarky comment and she's trying to think up a plan of escape before he can get it out of his mouth.

But he doesn't say anything, in fact, she doesn't hear him huff or snort or sigh which is completely very so not Dean Winchester, that she's a little frightened. She just hears his weight shift on his bed and she lets out a shaky sigh as she collects herself and closes her itchy watery eyes and she tries to fall asleep.

That's when she feels the bed rise up a little bit all of a sudden, he's lying right next to her.

"What's wrong?" he whispers. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, which a little bit creepy, but mostly comforting.

"I don't think I can do this anymore." She admits, "I mean, this is the most fun I've had in years, as crazy as that sounds, but I can't keep going on like this – like I'm some sort of robot. Just because I'm a witch doesn't mean I'm not a human."

"I never said that."

"I never said you did; it's just," she takes a deep shaky breath, "I've never felt like I've belonged anywhere. I'm a Mudblood to some, I'm a celebrity to others, and to a select few I'm a friend. I don't want to just be some witch to you and your brother; I don't know how I can prove it to you that just because I've done a few bad things, I'm not a bad person." She lets out a sob, "I'm sorry, it's just I –"

"I get it." He says, "Hermione, you don't have to prove anything; you're our friend. We're – I'm just not exactly used to the whole magic scene because it's usually being used against us. Now I'm going to stay here till you fall asleep, I for one like scary as hell Hermione way better than sleepy as hell Hermione." She let out a distorted giggle.

"Dean, you really don't need to stay here. I'm fine; it's just stress."

"Shut up, Glinda; it's not every day I have a legitimate excuse to share a bed with you."

"Oh, so _that's_ what this is about." She shifts her body around to look at him with a coy little smirk on her face, "Dean, if you wanted to do that you should have just asked."

She watched him slip up a little bit; any other person wouldn't have noticed, but they weren't Hermione and they sure as hell weren't just about face to face with a blushing Dean Winchester. He didn't say much after that. She flopped back onto her other side. She wiped her eyes then closed them.

"Good Night, Dean." She whispered.

"G'night, 'Mione."

-:-

* * *

-:-

The next morning was a little awkward, more so for Dean than for her. He was still asleep when she woke up. He was holding onto her like it was for dear life and it was nice (She honestly would have liked to stay there all day, but life never really works that way)

"Um, Dean." She says; he doesn't respond, so she tries to wiggle her way out of his grip, which is really quite possessive so her plan fails. (As was expected)

" _Dean!"_

"What? yeah; I'm up."

"Please, I know you are _madly in love_ with me, but could you please let go of me so I can get out of this god awful bed."

"Yeah… Sorry, sweetheart."

"Shut up."

After she gets up and grabs her things to get ready in the bathroom, Sam peeps his head up. He gives Dean a glance with one of those teasing smiles on his face, and Dean has nothing else to say but 'Shut up' which makes Sam's impossibly wide smile even bigger.

-:-

* * *

-:-

When she gets out of the bathroom (which to them feels like 997287395 years), they're practically packed up and ready to hit the road. She waves her wand and her possessions soar into her bag and she heads out towards the car.

Sam follows her out. Dean was still double checking the room.

"So, you and Dean?"

She laughs.

"Nope. He just thinks I'm easy."

"I can assure you that isn't true." He says honestly.

"Look, Sam, I like Dean, he's a pain in the ass most of the time, but like him. If you're going to tell me he's magically in love with me, I'm not interested. If you're going to do the protective relative speech go for it. There's nothing to protect him from; I'm not interested." Her thoughts betrayed her, and she knew that Sam knew it too, but he didn't question it. He just nodded and opened the trunk of the Impala and put his bag in it.

"You want the front?" he asked?

"You can have it, Sam. I think I want to piss off Dean today. Make sure if you catch him looking back here to tell him to keep his eyes on the road."

"Rodger that."

"And Sam?"

He turns his head to the back seat after she climbs in the ancient, but yet still working, car.

"Thanks for not killing me."

"Don't mention it."

And with that, Dean barges into the car and starts it; The trio (it was weird how she always found herself in some sort of group of three) and their trusty old car drove off into the mid-morning sunlight looking for a half decent breakfast joint before hitting the road for another thirteen hours to get back to Bobby's.

* * *

 **Hello, readers!**

 **I was honestly surprised by the response I got on this story. I wasn't expecting much (maybe because I doubt myself so much idk) but I got all this lovely feedback (in the form of four reviews and a bunch of follows and favorites.**

 **So thank you all.**

 **Just a quick note: I wrote this chapter like three times. (the first time had a werewolves... I think the second time involved a drunk Hermione...) I know its pretty cheesy and its only the second chapter, but there is going to be significant time gaps between each chapter, so it sort of makes sense.**

 **(Like between this one and the last I think there were five or six months.)**

 **I know that Hermione is a bit ooc, but everybody needs a good cry sometimes (plus her and dean sort of snuggling make my heart hurt a bit so *shrugs*)**

 **Also, I would like to apologize for all the grammatical mistakes in advance; I don't have a beta and im pretty okay (sucky) at picking them out.**

 **That should be it.**

 **On again thank you so much for reading and it would mean the world to me if you left a lil review or favorite/followed!**

 **Bleuboxes**


	3. Chapter 3

Things were starting to get difficult with the Winchesters and she's decided that she may need a break from killing and stabbing and casting things back into hell for a while. It's not that she doesn't like them very much, Sam is herself declared best friend slash research partner and Dean's an attractive pig headed git; it's just somehow, the two of them failed to mention to her in the year and a half that she's been traveling with them that they managed to start to apocalypse, and well, she wasn't really in the mood to hop right into another war.

She decides to take a leave of absence, just for a few weeks; she can go visit Harry in London, maybe say hello to Ginny and their child (who she should remember the name of but it's slipping her mind at the moment.) And she should probably make sure no one has broken into o her flat and taken anything somewhat important or magical.

She also thinks the brothers need some time away from her to settle some Winchester things. (For instance, the goddamn apocalypse.) Her being there can get in the way of some touching brotherly conversations that need to be spoken. Plus, Dean always seems to get distracted whenever she enters the room and that's not good for their saving the world business.

She also wants absolutely no role in this apocalypse shin dig, so she's going to let them settle this, without her.

Sam thinks it's a great idea. She needs a break from all this running and hunting and fighting. (He also thinks she should maybe talk to some people other than him and Dean and the occasional old man that thinks it's smart to flirt with her, which it isn't; she may 'accidentally' hex him or something.)

Dean on the other hand seems apprehensive, she knows, despite the big mean personality, he actually cares about her well being and it would probably crush the both of them if something was to happen to her. But she's a free spirit, and she doesn't belong to him so he can't lock her in the panic room at Bobby's. She also believes that he really doesn't want her to get involved with the foreplay to the end of the world (and that's vital to her case), so he pretends he doesn't really care what she decides to do.

So she packs all her things that litter the back seat of Dean's precious piece of machinery into her little beaded bag and says her farewells. Sam pulls her into a tight hug and tells her not to die and she laughs and replies with a 'right back at you, Sasquatch.' She goes to give Dean a hug too, but he's not letting the mushy friendly part of his personality out today; he shakes her hand and tells her to take care. (She scolds herself for thinking of how those hands would feel running through her hair or how dainty hers were in comparison; she's being silly.)

She's been having these weird thoughts lately about Dean, and not the 'why do Americans smell like beer all the time' thoughts, but the 'wow he has really nice hair' thoughts. She went through these with Ron and she knew what would eventually bud into something else if she didn't control her thoughts and feelings (another reason for taking a little vacation).

It's not that she didn't want anything with Dean; it was that it would be nearly impossible to maintain a relationship with this lifestyle. It would be taxing and he would probably just break her heart in the long run anyway, and she can't deal with that right now, or ever for that matter.

There are more important things at stake than her stupid feelings.

She leaves the motel parking lot with a twist and a crack and she finds herself in her flat, which is incredibly dusty and has a few letters scattered under the door. Two are from Harry, one is from the Ministry about her book, which she hasn't worked on in ages, so unless she gets some serious motivation, it probably won't ever be published. There's one from Draco, which is peculiar; she hasn't talked to him in ages. She makes a mental note to reply to him when she gets the time. The other seven letters are all from Ron.

Ron. Sweet, nice, kind Ron. Menacing, annoying manipulative, Ron. She can swear they all say the same thing 'Come _back, 'Mione. I miss you. I just want the best for you. I think its best you quit your job'_ or ' _Mum's been asking for you. She hopes to see you at the next dinner. I hope to see you there too.'_ Maybe ever her personal favorite, _'Harry said he's been in touch with you. I haven't heard from you in days. Did you leave me for him? That's improper, Hermione. You know he loves Ginny. Just get back home soon. I miss you.'_

She needs something more than the proper relationship that Ron wants. She knows she deserves more than being an unemployed mother of six. She's the brightest witch of her age for god's sake, does Ron not understand that she doesn't want domestic? Does he not sense her craving to be more than just a house wife?

Apparently not, and that's the reason why she hasn't contacted him in a year and a half. She doesn't even read what he's written to her; she picks it up and throws it in the trash. She opens Harry's first letter, inviting her to the baby shower of their son, whose name she remembers to be James Sirius. The second of his letters is long and she can feel the worry in the words. She's touched that he's worried about her. He just wants to make sure she's still alive.

Which she is. When people want to fall off the map, they usually don't do it as skillfully as she does, apparently.

She writes a response on her dusty kitchen counter with a quill, she hasn't used one in a while so her handwriting is messier than usual, and she invites both Harry and Ginny to tea (and if they would like to bring their son with them, she's fine with that.)

She then proceeds to open Draco's letter with curiosity, why would he write her?

Apparently, it's because he would like to invite her to his wedding, which is rather bizarre. She hasn't talked to him since Ron started filtering her mail. (Which is illegal, but Ron failed to see how his obsessive self could possibly be breaking the law.)

She thinks of how she should formulate her response. If she wants to go, her rsvp will be late and that could cause Draco and his fiancé some trouble, but if she doesn't go, he might believe that she still holds grudges, like Ron.

So she writes that she's sorry for the late response, but she will try to make it. She adds in a few thoughts on how she can't wait to catch up with him and wishes him good health before signing the letter.

She doesn't even touch the letter from the ministry. She doesn't work for them anymore, so her personal life is none of their concern.

She walks towards her kitchen window and opens it, and whistles for an owl to come and deliver her letters. A gorgeous mud brown owl comes and she gives it a treat before it flies off to deliver her messages.

She sighs, looking at the kettle that's still on her stove from the last time she was here. It seemed like so long ago that they didn't trust her – didn't want her. Only a select few had welcomed her so soon and without much thought. (Though once you've saved someone's life, you more often than not get the benefit of the doubt.)

She waves her wand to get rid of all the dust and walks over into her living room to put on the television. As usual, there isn't much on; just the news and some old reruns of Doctor Who, but its quiet and she needs something to fill the silence.

-:-

* * *

-:-

And the days pass into weeks, she sits on the couch and reads, not really listening to what's happening outside her window or on the tele. She met Harry and Ginny the other day, they flooed over to her place with James, who looks like a spitting image of Harry, but his face features much of Ginny's elegance. She spends more time with their small infant son then with them, and that's saying something considering Harry and Ginny are two of her favorite people.

She volunteered to babysit him when she was in town, and they both thought that was an excellent idea; James really seemed to like her.

Ginny said that Ron is being formidable and ridiculous, and she's not mad at her for one second for ditching him, saying her brother was being borderline abusive and his obsession with keeping her out of harm's way wasn't helping her at all. She smiles, glad that Ginny doesn't hate her for leaving her brother.

They just both wished she had kept in contact. She wants to tell them about what she's been doing in America, they deserve that much from her, but she can't; she doesn't want them to think her crazy and delusional. So she tells a watered down version of the truth.

She's taking care of magical beasts in America with two other Muggleborns, and she was in dire need of vacation so she's taken a few weeks off.

Harry doesn't push the subject.

Before she knows it, the Potters leave her home and she's alone again. She's half tempted to write Sam and Dean a letter, but knows that even the smallest of messages can pull her into a big mess. So she sits on her couch and curls up with a good book.

-:-

* * *

-:-

Weeks pass into months and before she knows it, she's scrambling to find Draco a wedding present and she's trying to find a nice enough outfit to wear. She settles on an evergreen colored gown, something formal but not flashy for the winter seasons, which makes her feel as if she's fourteen again at the Yule Ball. (Oh how she wishes dean could see her now. She'll have to get pictures.)

Draco's soon to be wife was from Godric's Hollow, so there is going to be a small service and reception there at the little old church rather than Malfoy Manor, much to her delight. She is quite anxious to see who else he had invited, worried that some may glance judgmental eyes upon her.

She arrives, and sits in the same pew as Harry and Ginny. She doesn't personally know everyone there, but she knows of them and they know of her (but alas, who doesn't know of the great Hermione Granger). The service is nice, and the reception is pleasant. She doesn't stay long, she's had a drink or two, talked to Draco and his wife and left. She has no interest in talking to anyone else.

When she arrives back at her apartment, she can feel that something is very not right. She walks into the kitchen, wand in hand to find none other than the demon whom the brothers call Meg sitting on her counter smiling so sweetly it looks almost sour.

Hermione doesn't even ask how she got in her flat; she has been expecting something like this to happen sooner or later. Meg, as she remembers, is an almost-friendly, so she doesn't allow herself to worry as much as she usually does about these type of things.

Meg doesn't say anything. She smiles and hands her a picture of some random shed and disappears with as much grace as a toad. (Though, Hermione did have to admit, the demon had style.) She also assumes the demon knows what she was, and she decides to grab her trusty bag and investigate this silly little shed.

She packs the essentials and with a twist, she is out of her apartment and in the American Midwest. It's just about three in the afternoon and everything looks very suburban and it annoys her a little bit. Nobody is outside, but it's a workday so that was to be expected. She has at least an hour before people start showing up.

With the whisper of _Alohamora,_ the door unlocks and she pushes it up. There are many tools littered throughout the shed, and a tarp covers some sort of structure, a structure that vaguely resembles a second home to her. For a second she is terrified to even peek behind the canvas sheet. But this is important, something that needs to be done.

She peels back the sheet a little bit and her intuition proves to be correct. It was in fact the darling 1967 Chevy Impala, and that only meant one thing, that they were here, and one of them was living the life of a suburban American man. (She didn't know if she found this terrifying or hilarious. Maybe a little bit of both.)

She scrambles out of the garage, not bothering to shut the door behind her. Something was wrong, something was very, very not right. Dean just wouldn't park his beloved piece of machinery and Sam wouldn't just leave Dean for some girl in some house.

She needed to clear her head. She needed to head into town – that's when she remembered she never changed out of her gown and she looked very out of place. She'd have to find a place to stay; it took too much energy apparating back and forth, and she knows the motel owners see almost everything imaginable.

-:-

* * *

-:-

She walks into town looking clean and crisp, turning heads and making some shake at the mere elegance and ridiculousness of her outfit. There's a nice looking chain hotel in front of her, and she decides that this is as good of a place that she's going to get. She gets the smallest room she can, and hurries to get out of this dress, which she carefully takes off her body, replacing it with a pair of jeans and sweater. She sheds off the heels faster than you can say 'nargles' and replaces those with a pair of bright red converse that look just as audacious as her dress did. She apparates to a shrub across the street from the garage containing the Impala. There's a truck in the driveway, so she knows that someone is home. She hears a clank of metal hitting a concrete floor and can only shrink at her foolishness. She should have made the garage look as if she hadn't even been there in the first place. So much for being clever.

A black economy SUV pulls into the driveway, and a beautiful woman emerges from the driver side door and a small child, who can't be more than eleven, exits the back seat and runs towards the garage. The woman, in her sharp blazer and pencil skirt shakes her head and walks up to the front door, trying to find the key to unlock the door. Hermione's interest in her dissipates and it is now focused on the little boy, who is evidently talking to the owner of the tan pickup truck.

She hears a deep laugh that vaguely resembles Dean's, but she can't be sure, she needs to be absolutely positive that it's him before she jumps to conclusions. (But it's too late for that. She's seen the woman and she can only assume who she is to him.)

The talking stops, then both humans exit the garage, the boy and none other than Dean himself. She doesn't know how she feels. Dean would never abandon Sam. But maybe he didn't; maybe Sam got into a situation and couldn't get out of it –

And then she remembers why she ran; because the Winchesters were right in the center of the end of all things. And she knows, deep in her heart that Dean is here because Sam asked him to come – as a final wish or something, much like Harry's when he wished for her and Ron to not follow him during the final battle. (Oh the irony.)

Her heart breaks for Dean; how hard this loss must be on him. And then, her heart breaks for the woman, who is surely trying her hardest to propel Dean out of his ever constant wallowing and self pity and alcoholism. Finally, her own heart breaks, because maybe, just maybe if she had stayed with them, Sam would have gotten out of the endeavor that claimed his life. She wishes that she had been there for Dean in his first hours without Sam, to mourn with him. And she selfishly wishes that instead of that woman, it was her that was helping him, maybe she would have made him crack a ghost of a smile by showing him her skills on a broom, or by doing silly hexes on some drunk at a bar; she just wishes she was there to do something.

It just wasn't fair.

But then again, nothing in her life has ever been fair, and she wasn't quite sure why she thought that trend would change just because she had a new cause – a hopeless one at that.

She doesn't need to stay and watch through the window as he brushes his lips lightly against the woman's as a little hello.

She doesn't need to stay to know that he's probably forgotten about her and her stupid little witchiness.

She doesn't need to stay to know that she's insufferably jealous and guilty that she didn't write that stupid goddamned letter.

So she pops back into her hotel room almost in a fit of hysterical crying over Sam and her stupid feelings for some stupid muggle and she screams, unintentionally shattering the vase on the desk. She needs to calm down; she needs to breathe.

And she does. She thinks of her mother and father, of Harry and Ginny and James, and she calms down enough to take a shower and eventually she puts herself to bed and has a sleep filled with all her worst nightmares.

She returns to the shrub early the next morning, the woman's car is gone; Dean's pickup truck remains. She waits silently and still for him to exit the house, which he does nearly an hour later.

She's twitching, furious at herself for not writing him; furious at him for not trying to contact him (he had an angel on his shoulder for god's sake, she's sure his feathered friend could have found her.) A branch from the tree behind her breaks, almost hitting her head. It misses her by mere inches, but the damage is done.

It looked suspicious; there wasn't any wind. Plus, she let out a little whimper. Dean picked his head up and looked at her shrub. He walked over to her cautiously, and she was too petrified to apparate out of here.

Or maybe she wanted him to see her. Maybe she wants to find out what happened. Maybe she needs proof that Sam is dead before she goes and explodes into a mess of sadness. Maybe she just misses him and wants to say hello.

She doesn't know. She just wants to see him face to face. (GAH! Emotions!)

He peeks around the surrounding bushes, then behind him before looking in hers. He looks at her form quizzically. She gets up before he picks her up and attacks her.

"Hello, Dean."

He looks as if he's been hit by the Night Bus and before she can even think of what to say next, he's lunging at her and she's falling backwards. Then everything goes black.

* * *

 **Hello friends!**

 **i know its been a month, a literal whole month, since I've updated this and i feel really bad about that. so here's an apology present.**

 **thank you so much for your continued support, because, you all really motivated me to sit my sun burnt self down to write this today. (kudos to y'all)**

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	4. Chapter 4

She wakes up and she's sitting on a couch that is well worn but in good condition. Her head hurts from both mental and physical abuse. Her eyesight is blurry, but not cloudy enough for her to not make out the man standing in front of her. It's Dean and he's got a look of confusion anger and relief all crammed into one facial expression. She's not really getting the 'happy to see you' vibe from him, which she can tolerate; she's been off the Winchester radar for about a half a year. She did abandon them when they needed her most.

Aha, it's disappointment that's in the air, not contempt or longing. She's almost afraid to speak; what if he hits her again; what if he gets a knife and rips over her arm, torturing her for information on where she was – where it was.

And she screams.

He looks at her, in confusion, then panic. She continues yell, screaming that she doesn't have it; that she didn't take anything. He's sitting next to her, softly saying her name over and over again trying to get her to snap out of it. That's when she realizes this isn't real; this is a hallucination of what once was. It's over – what happens now is what's important. And then she starts crying onto his shoulder.

God, she's missed him.

She's sobbing hysterically. Her body is shaking and it's taken over by the shear impact of all her emptions and fears and dreams surfacing at once. She's crying because she hates him. She's crying because she missed them. She's crying because she couldn't be there to save his brother. She's crying because she needs to let everything out – because it's not healthy to keep everything pent up inside.

He pulls her closer, and her weeping diminishes into mere sniffles and a spare tear. She lets herself become content with the mere closeness and human contact. Sam's death must have triggered something inside him, letting him show a little more compassion than he usually deemed necessary. (Maybe that's why he's with this woman now.)

And that's when it all hits her. The closeness is too intimate; it's almost too close. She pulls away awkwardly from him and wipes her eyes. She can't let him reduce her to a sobbing mess. He's already seen her cry once already. She was supposed to be strong; she's lived through a war. She wasn't supposed to let her mental state out. It wasn't fair to him – it wasn't fair to anyone.

Then she realizes this is the first time he's had a glimpse at her ever so rare hallucinations. She's suddenly embarrassed. That hasn't happened in years. She feels almost guilty for dishing out her mental instability out to him. She's sure he's got enough to deal with. The last thing he needs to do is worry about her.

She takes a shaky breath and calms herself. He gives her a concerned look, asking if she's alright. She replies with a reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry," she says, "just bad memories; that hasn't happened in years. It's good to see you, Dean."

"Good to see you too, 'Mione." He smiles. She can tell something's off.

"And you're okay?" she asks, not wanting to directly speak of Sam. She knows they were inseparable and this must be extraordinarily hard for Dean.

"Okay as I'll ever be." he sighs, "how'd you hear about that?"

"I sort of figured something must have happened for you to be living in the American suburbs."

"I can't believe I'm _living_ in the suburbs." He admits, "It's so… normal. I've got Lisa and Ben and this house and a job – an actual job that doesn't involve killing things – and it's… it's nice." He confesses.

"I'm happy for you." She says. It's a half lie. She's glad he's getting to be a normal human being. Dean at least deserves to be happy. But she can tell he didn't really want this, or at least that's what she's telling herself to feel better. She wishes it was her that he was with; she wishes that she could be there to take away the agonizing feeling that the loss of his brother has punctured him with.

"What brings you to this part of the world." He asks. She has no interest in telling him a demon. (God knows that would go over like a ton of bricks.)

"Anonymous tip, actually; I found a picture of your shed under my door and decided it couldn't hurt to investigate a little bit."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She can feel the conversation dwindling. This has never happened before between them. It's strange and eerie and she hates it almost as much as she often hates what has happened to her.

"I don't think I want to go back to Britain anytime soon." She blurts out, in hopes to redeem their discussion. She missed the sound of his voice. She missed his annoying innuendos and their in-depth colloquies. He looks surprised and looks at her while she stares at her hands which are folded in her lap tensely.

"Why's that?" he probes.

"They all look at me – I'm a war hero over there, Dean. I'm praised for my bravery and I get extra hype because of my blood. People see a strong woman when in all actuality, I'm a terrified girl. I just can't stand it when they look at me like they know me; like I'm some sort of book that they had to memorize." She sighs, not sure why she wants to have a heart-to-heart with him, "I just need to get away from it all." He grabs her hand and squeezes it, causing her to break out in goosebumps.

"That's what I'm doing in the suburbs." He whispers. She laughs; it's not even funny. Just the concept of Dean Winchester doing properly normal everyday things makes her loose it. Then he starts laughing too, and before they know it their eyes are leaking because of the incomprehensible fits of giggles.

"This is just so bizarre, I'm sorry." She laughs, "What's equally scary is what I was in a full length gown three days ago doing normal wizarding things. Gosh, I haven't dressed up like that in ages." He looks at her and she can almost hear him picturing her without her sweaters and flannels and jeans.

"I'm sure you looked beautiful." He says. She freezes, just for a second she allows herself to think that he cares about her like more than just another friend, but then she stops. He's got Lisa, and the little boy, Ben. She won't let herself get in the way of what he has here.

She realizes that she needs to go. He was to get to work. She can call him or meet him later. She pretends to ignore his comment about her being beautiful and arks the conversation a completely different way.

"I don't want to hold you up; I'm sure you've got to get to work and everything."

"No. No, Hermione, it's fine really. You don't –"

"I should best be going. I don't think I have your new number…" she opens her bag and _Accio's_ a pen and paper for him to write it down. She shoves it in his hands before he can refuse. He scribbles down his phone number hastily and hands it back to her.

"I'll call you." She says walking towards the door, "Maybe we can get a drink or something together. And I would love to meet this Lisa!" she gives him a devilish smile, hoping to disguise her ridiculous displeasure with coyness.

"See you soon." He says. She smiles and waves before going out the door and apparating to her hotel room.

-:-

She showers and takes a nap, trying to sleep off her heartache. When that doesn't work, she decides to try to write a letter to Draco; she promised she would keep in touch. She finished that moderately quickly, and needed something else to do. She wrote to Harry and practically demanded him to come visit her soon.

Then she decided to try another nap. Fortunately, this time she fell right to sleep and there were no dreams of the war, no dreams of the brothers, no dreams of anything, for that matter. It was a deep sleep, as if she had given herself a sleeping draught.

She woke up sometime later and decided that it couldn't hurt to give Dean a call. (What she didn't know was that it was three in the morning and any reasonable American citizen would be asleep.) She pulls out the pad of paper and punches his number into her phone. It rings and he picks up.

"Hi Dean."

"Who's this?" it's a woman that picks up the phone. She sounds tired and angry and suddenly Hermione feels really quite terrible.

"I must have the wrong number; my mistake." She apologizes.

"No. This is Dean's phone. What the hell are you doing calling my boyfriend at three in the morning?"

So this must be Lisa. She feels even guiltier now.

"I didn't realize it was so late. I just came from England – "

"I don't give a damn. Who the _hell_ are you?" Lisa interrupts. Hermione lets out a _harrumph_ and tries to figure out a way to tell the woman that she isn't calling for the reason that she's thinking.

"My name's Hermione Granger. Dean and I are friends; I was supposed to call him when I arrived in America. Look, I can call back later if this isn't a good time."

"Yeah," says Lisa, "Why don't you do that."

"Sorry. I'm still on London time."

She hung up before Hermione could say goodbye. She decides that she doesn't really like Lisa, though she can't really blame her. If some strange foreigner was calling her metaphorical boyfriend in the early hours of the morning, she would have been a little suspicious herself.

-:-

She tries to force herself back to sleep, but that's not working, so she pulls out her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and reads until her hearts content. It brings back happier, simpler memories of when her life was still black and white.

How she wishes she could go back to being her nerdy eleven year old self. When her sadness only consisted of being called a freak and an atrocity (Though that part of her life still hast really changed). How she wishes her parents still knew her by name and face. She misses her life – the simplicity of the wizarding world amazed her and she wishes that she could simply fit right back in.

But she's seen too much to go back to that life.

It's ten o'clock in the morning when she decides to down to the hotel lobby to grab some of the continental breakfast - a banana and a bagel. She brings it back up to her room to eat. She doesn't want to be watched by the creepy old man sitting beneath the television.

She eats her food in silence. While she's in the middle of sending her letters, her mobile phone rings; it's Dean's cell. She answers.

"Hermione speaking."

"Hi, it's Lisa. Sorry about being so miserable last night. Just, knowing Dean's past and everything you can't be too careful." Hermione nods, though Lisa can't see her. (Honestly, she wasn't expecting Lisa to know about the hunting, but you learn something new every day.)

"Yeah, I understand. Completely." She agrees.

"He was saying you wanted to meet up or something? Does tonight sound good?" Hermione is shocked at her change in her demeanor. Maybe she isn't so bad.

"I'm not doing anything except trying to stay away from this old creep at my hotel. Tonight sounds fine."

They decided to met up at the little bar on the main strip of town, something that she most certainly wasn't expecting. But Dean lives in the suburbs now; he's got to be keeping up his appearances.

"Alright," Laughs Lisa, "See you then! Can't wait to meet you!"

-:-

She spends the rest of her day deciding what to wear. She goes with her usual jeans and a sweater. She's a nervous wreck. What if she can see through her pleasantness? Fortunately for Hermione, she can't. Lisa finds her delightful. She can tell that Dean's happy that Lisa likes her. They spend the night drinking. It's pleasurable.

When they bid farewell, she can't help but shake the feeling of uncertainty off her back. Somethings amiss, and she's going to figure out what it is. (She swears she sees a Sam-like figure following her out of the bar. She's dissapparates before she can figure out who it is – even if it is impossibly Sam.)

* * *

 **Hi guys! this chapter was a little hard for me to write, seeing as I had a little bit of writers block towards the end of it. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.**

 **Please review, favorite, or follow to let me know what you think! I really appreciate all the feedback that I've gotten so far (like my biggest response ever and it makes me feel like you guys really appreciate what I'm writing.)**

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 **Thanks y'all.**

 **bleuboxes**


	5. Chapter 5

It's been three months since she's last seen Dean. She's been keeping herself busy with little hunts here and there; they help keep her mind off the fact that Sam is actually dead (and the fact that she may like Dean Winchester a little more than she should).

She's in the middle of looking into what looks like a werewolf case – the victims heart had been ripped out clean, leaving a very bloody corpse for her. From what she had gathered from local officials, the victim was no angel. The word was the high school senior was the school slut and most of the town had it out for her. That didn't really help her narrow down her suspects.

Just as she was ready to head back to her room, the sheriff brought over two other agents that she didn't bother looking at. (She sort of had a mini heart attack and wanted to get the hell out of town – god knows the American justice system is a force to be reckoned with.)

But, before she can go sprinting away, she hears a surprised whisper of 'Hermione' and looks up to find none other than Dean and Sam Winchester.

To say she's startled is an understatement. She's pissed that Dean made futile attempts at contacting her. She's pissed that he's back on the road again without letting her know. She's pissed that she wasn't notified that Sam was back –

Sam was back. That thought among itself makes her heart flip. Sam is _alright_! Sam is alive and well and breathing and walking and that's when she feels it.

His gaze is cold and lacking the friendship it once possessed. The air around him seems tainted; it's almost as if he's missing something. And she knows she's felt this way before during her childhood. She just can't place it as a jittery feeling or something of actual importance.

She doesn't realize that he's actually missing his soul until after the hunt when she notices he doesn't have that distinctly Sam look of remorse and anger. Instead, she finds him looking happy and amused by the brutal murder of a creature and that's when it hits her.

Gosh! How could she have been so blind? Of course he's missing something – he's not acting when he looks like he could care less. It's so obvious now; she's see the signs before (although that situation was an entirety on its own.)

He's missing his soul and if dean had contacted her sooner, she might have been able to fix the situation before it got to be so bad (and has can tell Sam has changed, not just from where ever the fuck he was, but because he was lacking the basic thing that makes humanity humane).

xXx

She doesn't bring it up until Sam goes out drinking later that night (out of the blue), and it's just her and dean left in the motel room watching a ridiculous medical drama. She isn't really sure how to bring it up, but she doesn't have too.

"I think there're something wrong with Sam." He blurts.

"Me too." She replies, truthfully. "Why didn't you tell me he was back? I might have been able to fix it then before it got too out of hand?"

"I just couldn't believe my brother was back from Hell, and I just didn't think to call you; wait," he paused; she couldn't quite wrap her head around his previous statement, but tried to listen to what he had to say, "You know what's wrong with Sammy?"

"Well," she pauses, not knowing a polite way to say that his brother was in dire need of a soul, "I've sort of seen this sort of thing before, although it was a little different then, his soul was split into seven separate entities, not completely missing. I'm assuming someone pulled him out of the Pit for you; they must have left something behind."

He looks at her for a moment, in complete horror of what she had just told her. She wants to vomit at the sheer thought of Sam, who is one of the kindest people she has ever had the privilege of knowing, being in hell for a year and returning back to the Earth with his soul.

She's seen what soullessness does to people, and she wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone (even Bellatrix Lestrange).

"Fuck."

She nods, because there is nothing she can possibly say to make this conversation turn positive. He walks over and plops himself down next to her on the bed where she's sitting watching the way too small tv.

"I'm sorry I didn't call." He admits. It's so very unlike him to say such a thing that she's almost worried something is wrong with him too. But she knows that's not true (because she would be able to feel the wrongness of his being); she knows that dean isn't emotionless monster-fighter all day long.

"Dean, honestly, don't worry about it. It's fine."

"Hermione, it's not fine. I should have called and told you Sam out Lucifer and Michael back in the cage; could I should have fucking called when he came back. Maybe you could have kept us out of this mess." He sighs. She knows him not trying to make her feel terrible, but he is. And it hurts. She knows she should have been there for them. Hell, who knows, maybe she could have stopped the end of the world without the consequences.

"I wish I had been there for you." She regrets her word choice when he gives her _that_ look, but it's the truth. She should have been there for them, and him when everything went down. They were he friends, and she just left them in the middle of a crisis, "I could have helped; I should have been there to at least do _something!_ "

"If you had been there, they would have killed you for interfering with their plans. It's not you're damn fault. End of story."

"I know it's just that-"

"Listen, 'Mione," he starts with a sigh, "I know the self-loathing guilt thing better than most, and hell, I know you've been through a lot of shit too, but this ones on me."

And she wants to argue with him with every fiber of her being, but he's right. There is absolutely nothing that she could have done. Fate is funny that way, and she knew from all her years at Hogwarts with Harry" and Ron and everyone else, that somethings are just predetermined. (She was pretty bad at telling what those things were, but no one needs to know that)

"Okay." She says after what feels like an eternity. He smiles and she swears it lights up the whole dimly lit room. They finish the episode; he seems more into it than he would ever care to admit, and she almost laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of Dean watching "Dr. Sexy M.D.".

She steals the clicker from him before he can put on more terrible television. He orders pizza while she flips through the limited channels. They settle for one of the 'X-Men' movies, seeing as it's much more interesting and actually has a plot line. (Dean disagrees).

"So, you've been pretty busy on your own then?"

"Yeah, the world is full of everlasting chaos."

"Run into anything interesting?"

"I had to deal with a Boggart a few weeks ago; I hadn't seen one of those since my third year of school. The stupid thing drove three people into killing themselves and whenever I saw it I kept seeing Her, and that was sort of an experience." He looks at her blankly, and she bites her lip in embarrassment and to stop herself from rambling any more.

"Do you care explaining that in, what do you call it – ah, muggle words, princess." she punches him lightly on the shoulder and he smiles at her victoriously.

"Shut up." She laughs. Just as she's about to explain what a boggart actually is, there's a knock at the door. Hopefully it's the pizza guy and not Sam; she's not sure she's ready to deal with that problem right now. (To her delight, it is the pizza that shows up, and as soon as Dean pays the man, she runs over and grabs a piece, shoving into her mouth in the most unladylike manner.

Apparently, he finds this rather amusing and decided so make fun of her. She whispers _Anserrus_ in between her bites of pizza, and when Dean tries to tell her she looks like a slob, all he can do is honk like a goose, and she finds this equally as amusing as his infatuation with "Doctor Sexy M.D.".

The next morning, she wakes up and finds herself next to Dean, who looks as if he collapsed on the bed next to her. (Which she doesn't really understand. There's another perfectly good bed left.)

Of course, he was saving that for Sam, who should be in the bed but isn't. She hopes that he just hooked up with some girl and stayed at her place for the night and he didn't run out on them. God knows that would be another catastrophe, and from experience she knows that soulless people left to their own devices aren't exactly a great thing for the good of the world.

"Dean," she shakes him awake, which doesn't take long; he's a fairly light sleeper, "Sam's not here."

"Yeah, so?" he yawns, "he probably got laid or something."

"I'm going with the 'or something', unless your brother has a habit of waking up and making small talk with one night stands."

"Here, let me call him; I'm sure he wouldn't leave us without telling."

"He's missing his soul, so his moral compass is a little out of whack; he's not going to feel obligated do anything unless it's for his own benefit."

"Shhh," he hisses, "it's ringing." He gets the voicemail and hangs up with a 'dammit, Sammy'.

xXx

They get up and he packs his (and Sam's things) before checking out and hitting the road. She's able to put a tracking spell on one of Sam's belongings, and she lets his Stanford sweatshirt be their compass. They're on the road four hours now, and she's certain that they have to be getting close; at most they were two hours behind him; if they keep going, they'll catch up to him in no time.

They pull into what looks like an abandoned warehouse when the spell finally wears off.

"This is the place." She mutters while looking ahead. She can feel Dean's gaze upon her, and it makes her a little apprehensive about this whole journey to find Sam thing. They get out of the Impala quietly and quickly, her wand is drawn and he has his pistol out as they creep towards the door of the place.

On their way there, she notices a black Honda parked rather obviously in the side parking lot, so she knows that someone is here. That assumption is later confirmed when they find that the front door is unlocked. She mutters _Lumos_ under her breath, making the dark room light up just a little bit.

Nobody is in the first room, but she can feel the emptiness engulf her. He's here; she just needs to know where. And that's when he comes and tries to knock her out by hitting her over the head. Luckily, Dean sees him and gives her a shout in warning, and she's able to avoid getting whacked with a shovel. (Why he has a shovel, she doesn't want to know.)

She's throwing hexes at him, because she knows that Dean absolutely refuses to hurt his brother (stupid co-dependency issues) and although she feels bad about hurting his brother, she remembers that this isn't Sam, and she needs to subdue him before he hurt anyone (himself included).

With the shout of _Incarerous,_ he's being bound by ropes and she's able to relax a bit. She can tell he's about to make a snide comment about her, but before he's able to get the words out, Dean picks up the shovel and hits him over the head with it. He's knocked out instantly.

"Was that really necessary?" she yells. She could have just put him to sleep with a much less violent sleeping spell.

"You know what they say, sweetheart," he grins, "there's more than one way to skin a cat."

"You're impossible." She huffs, "and I'm not 'magicing' to the car; you're the lucky fellow that gets to lug his sorry ass into the Impala."

She turns her back as she walks out to the car, and she swears she can hear him mutter 'who's impossible now'(and she can't keep the smile off her face. Jesus Christ, does she have it bad).

* * *

 **I AM SO SORRY I'VE TAKEN SO LONG TO UPDATE THIS. I feel really bad, and have a million and one excuses so please forgive me. I've been so busy with school (Sophomore year is a nightmare) and I've had a terrible case of writers block (I re-wrote this chapter at least five times) and I just didn't have the motivation to work on it at all.**

 **AYE I'm almost at 100 followers so I just want to thank y'all for your support of this story (because if it weren't for you I wouldn't have sat my butt down at 2:30 to write this)**

 **So please! Keep reviewing and following and favoriting! I really appreciate it!**

 **Hopefully I'll be able to update again soon, but I can't make any promises!**

 **Again, thank you so so so much.**

 **bleuboxes**


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